Italian Shortstop
by newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O
Summary: My name's Amelia. And I am a Victorian young lady, mainly. I mean, I'd be a normal girl, if I didn't love baseball so much. No Slash. First fanfic...ever.
1. Chapter 1

So here's my first ever fan fic! Yay!

I appreciate comments or any sort... 'cause I'm kinda "new" to this... It doesnt matter if you've got an account or not.

Disclaimer: I dont own Newsies... Its the other way around...

* * *

"Then Keeler rounded second, his foot slipping on the bag. Could he make it to third? The crowd was all a-hush, wanting him to stay on second. But Keeler's a man of risk. He dove for third, just as the Shortstop came in with the ball to tag him out. A cloud of dust erupted around the base, and when it cleared, Keeler and the Shortstop were both on base", I told Twitch.

"Well???" he asked, in excitement, "Was Keeler safe?"

I raised an eyebrow at Twitch, causing the moment to be more suspenseful, "Well, Keeler was always a man of risk. And that isn't always a good trait to have."

Twitch gasped, "He didn't make it?"

"Aw, come on, Shortstop! Tell da kid what happened! You're da only one dat saw it!" somebody said from behind me.

"Aw, Race", I said, "I'm only havin' some fun."

"Did he make it, Shortstop?" Twitch pleaded, "Please! Tell me!"

I pulled Twitch in close, "Of course he make", I said tapping his nose, "He is Willie Keeler after all."

Just then, a voice called out from the deli across the street, "Amelia!!"

I sighed, getting up from the dirty ground, "See ya guys later."

"Bye, Shortstop!" Twitch said, "See you tomorrow!"

"See ya, Shorty", Race said, smirking.

I shot him a playful glare, while fixing my skirt, so that it didn't look like I had been hanging around with the guys again. I picked up my basket of bread that ma asked me to get and walked across the street to join her.

**. . .**

When ma and I got back to the apartment, it was almost sundown. Dad would be home from the factory soon, and we had to get dinner ready.

Ma asked me to get out the bread that I had gotten earlier, and to put it out on the counter. Ma then had me slice up the bread and put it back into the basket. She then sent me down the hall, with the bread, to Mrs. Colandrea.

"_Buona sera, Signora Colandrea_" _(Good evening, Mrs. Colandrea),_ I said as she opened the door.

"_Buona sera, Amelia" (Good evening, Amelia)_, she replied, just as she does every night. Mrs. Colandrea was a widow. Her husband had died only a few months ago. And I had been bringing her bread ever since, because she still had six children to feed. Only one of the Colandreas spoke any English. And that was Emilio, who was a year younger then me, and the only reason that he knew English was that I taught him.

I gave her the basket of bread that I had sliced up. And she thanked me, kindly. Just as she always had.

Just then, Celso came up to the door, next to his mother. Celso was only about nine, the same age as Twitch.

"_Salve, Celso_" _(Hey, Celso)_, I said to him.

"_Salve, Amelia!_" _(Hey, Amelia)_ he replied.

"_Lavare I piatti, Celso_" _(Go wash up, Celso)_, Mrs. Colandrea said to her son. He looked up at her, and did as he was told.

I could here the rest of the Colandreas getting ready for dinner, as the widow thanked me for the bread again. I told her that it was no problem and that if she ever needed anything, we were just down the hall. Of course, I told her this every night. But it always held true. Ma wasn't one to let anyone go hungry.

Once I was done with that, I went back to our own apartment, and helped ma finish making lasagna.

**. . .**

After dinner, ma, dad, and I gathered in the small parlor. Ma put a record onto the phonograph that we had. Dad picked up the evening edition of the New York World. And I sat with my cross-stitching. I had been working on a plaque for Mr. Colandrea's memorial, and I was taking my time on it, making sure that it was perfect.

"Oh, Robert", Ma said, breaking the silence.

Dad looked up from his paper, "Yes?"

"Do you remember this song?"

He listened for a few seconds. It was a song that I had never heard before, but it defiantly was of my parent's generation.

"The song we danced to at our wedding", Dad said sweetly, as if remembering it.

They both sighed, listening to the sweet music as it slowly filled up the room. Then, Dad got up from his chair and held his hand out for Ma. She gladly took it and they began to waltz. Right there in the parlor. They were having fun, smiling, and looking each other in the eye, longingly. I smiled too. I loved it when my parents were like this. All happy, and in love.

And just before the song ended, I got up and walked over to the phonograph. Neither of my parents saw me get up. They were too busy. But I was standing there, with a wicked grin on my face. I quickly picked up the record, and put another record into the phonograph.

My parents jumped when they heard the transition. Ma even gasped.

She then looked at me and asked, "Scott Joplin?"

I nodded, smiling. And then Ma smiled, too.

Dad then took my hand and pulled me in, and we started dancing. All three of us.

**. . .**

Next morning, Dad had to get up really early for work. So, Ma and I had the day to ourselves again.

It started out with Ma teaching me on "being a lady". I paid close attention to my lessons, making sure that I got everything exactly right. Because, one day, I would be married. And I needed to know how to be a good wife. Then were my lessons on reading and writing. Ma said that just because I had to be a good wife, didn't mean that I had to be a stupid one. So, I learned my grammar, and how to use predicate nominatives. It was a long lesson, because I do not enjoy grammar. But I got through it and we moved onto the chores of the day.

We went out onto the streets of Brooklyn. Living in Park Slope was very convenient, but all three of us (Ma, Dad, and I) wished that we lived in Little Italy, in Manhattan. We were an Italian-American family, and we wanted to be around others that were like us. All we had were the Colandreas (and don't get me wrong, we were very close to them).

But everyday, Ma and I would travel across the Brooklyn Bridge to Little Italy, because that's where you found the best Italian foods in all of New York.

Ma sent me out to get bread again.

So, I took the money that she gave me and headed off, in search of bread…and my friends.

* * *

So, that's the first chapter... I'm not sure if I'm proud of it yet...

Again, I appreciate comments or any sort! Doesn't even matter if you've got an account or not. I'll take your comments anyway.

References...

Brooklyn Superbas: The baseball team of Brooklyn between the years: 1899 and 1910. (There's a huge history of them... look them up if you're into baseball!)

Willie Keeler: an outfielder for the Brooklyn Superbas in the 1899, 1900, 1901, & 1902 seasons. (Stats: Batting ave: .341, Hits: 2,932, Runs scored: 1,719.)

Scott Joplin: Ragtime songwriter. Wrote Maple Leaf Rag. (You can find it on .... link on my profile...)

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 is out! Sorry it took me a bit....

But here it is.

* * *

"What's a girl like you doin' in a place like dis?" I heard a voice say as I crossed the street, walking toward the bakery.

"Getting bread", I replied sarcastically without even looking to see who it was.

The boy next to me looked shocked, "And here I was t'inkin' da you was lookin' for me."

I rolled my eyes, "Race, I'm always here this time of day. And you always come here on your way to pick up the afternoon addition."

"I know", he said, "I just like feeling special, is all."

"Oh, you're special alright", I said.

Race turned to me, "Are you insulting me, Shorty?"

"Look who's callin' who 'Shorty'!" I laughed.

"Hey", he retorted, "I'm taller 'en you!"

I raised an eyebrow, "Not by much."

"But still taller!"

"Any good headlines, today?" I said, quickly changing the subject.

"Naw", Race said, trying to find a match to light his cigar, "Nothin' new. Same old stuff."

I rolled my eyes; it was always the 'Same old stuff'. I then looked around, "Hey Race?"

"Hm?" he was still searching for a match.

"Where's Twitch?"

That got his attention. He turned around, "Twitch?" he called out into the noisy street.

"Yeah?" said a small voice from my right side. I looked down and smiled.

"Hey, Twitch", I casually said.

"Hi, Shortstop!" he said excitedly, "Do you think that you could finish telling me about the game?"

"Of course, but first…" I said, holding up my empty basket, "I need to get some bread before the baker runs out."

"Oh", he said, "Well, can I come with you?"

I nodded. "You want to come too, Race?"

"Do you really think dat I would pass up de opportunity to go into a bakery and not look like a thief?"

**. . .**

Once we got the daily bread, Race, Twitch, and I started to walk to our usual place of gathering; a park on the outskirts of Little Italy.

"Can you tell me _now_?" pleaded Twitch.

"Not 'till we get there", I kept telling him.

And at that he would groan in frustration, "Why?"

"I need to set the mood", I replied.

"Shortstop, this isn't the _threatre_", Race said, "Its baseball."

At this I was shocked, "Baseball is an art form!"

"Yeah, well so is poker", he said, "And you don't see me trying to 'Set the mood' every time a tell one of those stories!"

I shrugged, "Well maybe if you did, they'd be better."

He stopped and looked at me like I'd slapped him in the face. But I kept walking, with little Twitch by my side.

We found a nice bench in the park, where I could begin. I took out my score pad, that I brought with me everywhere. In it, were the scores of every game that I had ever been to. And they were all marked up, down to the time of each play.

"Next at bat was Deacon McGuire", I started out, "Now McGuire's a slugger. Always hits 'em right outta the park, he does. And when he doesn't, he beats himself more then anybody I ever met."

"But what 'bout this time, Shortstop?"

"This time, he didn't hit it outta the park..."

Twitch gasped, "But he's gotta! The Superbas gotta win!"

"I didn't say he didn't hit it", I told Twitch, "He just didn't hit it outta that park. But he did hit it, on the second pitch. And the ball flew right out into left field...."

The rest of the day went by same as any normal day. I told the guys about games that I'd been to, and then we'd talk. Then Ma would call me, and the boys would need to get the afternoon addition to sell.

Then I went home, gave the bread to Mrs. Colandrea, and helped Ma with dinner.

But that's where the similarities end.

Ma had to go help Mrs. Colandrea with one of her children. Little Celso, the one I saw just yesterday, was sick.

Just as we were eating our dinner, there was a knock on the door.

Dad got up to get the door. As he opened it, I could hear the squeaking of the door. There was some mumbling, before I heard:

"Amelia!" being called.

But I got up from the table, and fixed my skirt a bit. And then walked to the door.

When I got there, Dad looked at me qualitatively. None of my friends ever came to our house. I'm not sure any of them knew where I lived.

When I saw who was at the door, I gasped.

"Racetrack?!"

"Hey-a, Shorty", he said, causally, almost like we had seen each other on the street.

"What are you doing here?" I added in a harsh whisper.

He kinda leaned into me, looking scared, "I didn't know where else to go, Shortstop, you gotta help me."

"Who's your friend, Amelia?" Dad asked my, slowly.

I straitened up, looking nervous, "Um, Dad. This is Racetrack Higgins. He's a newsboy."

He gave me a look that said, _We'll talk later, _but she took Race's hand as a greeting.

"Not to be rude, Mr. Higgins, " said the deep voice of my father, "But how did you come to know my daughter?"

"Well, Mr. , um...", Race started.

"Chelo."

"Mr. Chelo. I came to know your daughter because she has a gift", he said, draping his arm over my shoulder.

My Dad looked at me, in horror.

Race seemed to get it, "Oh no. Not that kind of talent, Mr. Chelo. What I meant was that you daughter has the gift of storytelling. She could wrap a tale around anything."

At that, he took a sigh of relief; relaxed a little, but not by much. He was still stiff with fear on how his daughter could become acquainted with a poor newsboy. And at that, a newsboy who was obviously not very well off.

So, I tried to relieve some of the tension of the silence by asking Race:

"So, Ra- Mr. Higgins, what brings you here this fine evening?"

He didn't beat around the bush, "Shorty, I'm in the soup. I got nowhere else to go. Ya gotta help me."

I couldn't stand to see my friend like this. And at that point, I didn't care what my Dad thought. I stepped to the side of the doorway.

"Come in", was all I said.

Dad took my shoulder, as if to tell me that this was a bad idea. But I didn't care. I stepped out of my father's grip and followed Race into the parlor.

Racetrack chuckled, "So this is how the other half lives?"

I gave him a quick smile, "Race, what happened."

His face turned serious, "Shorty, I want to apologize."

"What for? You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, I did", he said, "I got you involved in something that you didn't need to be caught up in."

"And that something would be...?" I asked nervously.

"I got you caught up in _my_ business", he hinted.

My eyes narrowed, "Why would you do that, Race? You know that I can't get caught up with you or whoever you owe!"

"No, no, no", he started.

"Race", I said, "You need to think! Sometimes, I don't even know if you use that thing between your ears!"

"No, Shorty", he tried again, but I cut him off.

"You're so stupid sometimes, Racetrack! How could you do this?"

He then got up from where he was sitting, and put his hand over my mouth, "Shorty, you gotta listen."

"I think that's enough, Mr. Higgins", said a stern voice.

We both were surprised to hear my father speak. I had forgotten that he was still there.

Race took his hand off of my mouth and started to apologize:

"Mr. Chelo. I'm really sorry for my behavior this evening. But the news that I was bringing you daughter here, wasn't supposed to be bad."

"Well, it seems that it was", Dad said, staring at Race.

"But it wasn't supposed to be", he said. Race then turned to me, "The news I had was actually good."

"Well, then why'd you make it seem bad?" I asked.

He chuckled, "Joke gone wrong, I guess."

"Very wrong", Dad said, still glaring at Race.

Race turned to me again, "And, before you think otherwise, the guy owes me."

I smiled, "Well, what is it that he owes you?"

"He won't give me no money, on account he's broke right now. So me and him worked out a little agreement. I forget the money he owes, if he does me a favor."

I was somewhat disappointed, "That's nothing you haven't done before."

"I know", he said, "But you didn't let me finish."

"Sorry", I said.

"'So kay", Race started, "And you know, I wasn't lying when I said I involved you."

Dad's ears perked up at that. But he didn't say anything, yet.

So, Race continued, "The guy that owes me money, works for some baseball team. And they're lookin' for a new bat boy."

I was starting to get excited, "What team?"

"Some team called the Superbas. You know of 'em?"

* * *

Okay, if you need any references...

Deacon McGuire was a catcher for the Brooklyn Superbas durring the 1899, 1900, & 1901 seasons. (Stats - for anyone who really cares... - : Batting ave: .278, Hits: 1,748, Runs batted in: 840.)

p.s. I love comments

p.p.s. You don't need an account!!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3!! Let me know what 'ya think....

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.... sad face... :(

* * *

"The Superbas!!" I screamed, "Race, that's fantastic!! You're gonna be a bat boy? What do _you_ know about baseball?"

"Nothin', 'sept what you tell me", he said.

"Then how are you going to be a bat boy?"

"I'm not."

Now I was confused, "Then why are you telling me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Race said, "I might not know that much 'bout baseball, or have the time to be a bat boy, but I know somebody who does..."

I just looked at him quizatively. I wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"And you say that _I_ don't use my brain... Shortstop! I'm saying _you_ are the new bat boy for the Brooklyn Superbas!!"

Now I understood what he was saying, but it still wasn't making any sense, "Race. To be a bat boy, you need to be _a boy_. I am not a boy; I am _a girl_."

He rolled his eyes, and said sarcastically, "Yeah, and I overlooked that small detail. Shorty, I got this covered."

"How?"

Silence.

"Well?"

"The specifics do not need to be known just yet."

"Yes, they do, Mr. Higgins", said my father. I jumped a bit at his voice. I kept forgetting that he was there.

"Well, if you allow your daughter to do this, Mr. Chelo, I can guarantee her safety."

Dad looked sceptical at that, "And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?"

"I can guarantee it because there will always be somebody with her. Somebody who can look out for her and protect her", he said.

"And that somebody would be...?"

"I'll tell you that I know this person very well, and I would trust him with my own life. And he's already on the team. So, that way, he can keep an eye on her to keep he safe, at all times", Race said. I have to say, I was surprised. Racetrack was taking this very seriously.

Dad and Race kept talking, like I wasn't even standing there. I really didn't have much of an input on the matter. Neither even looked at me for a few minutes. So, I left the room, and went into the kitchen. I got another plate out of the cupboard, and put some leftover lasagna on it for Race. I then went back into the parlor, where the two still were.

"Excuse me", I said, "But if you two would like to continue to talk this over, I have some food waiting in the kitchen for you if you want."

Race licked his lips. I'm sure that he hadn't eaten in a while.

Dad asked Race into the kitchen for dinner, and I was dismissed into my room.

Figures.

Because I'm a girl, I don't have what it takes to listen to two men fighting over what I do. And even if I stayed with them, they would ignore me. That's just how society is. I'm not allowed to do anything that doesn't involve cooking or cleaning.

I had been raised all my life in order to be a good wife. That's it. That's all I was allowed to do. I needed to know how to cook, and how to clean, and how to take care of people, and how to always listen to men, because they were automatically smarter, and how to keep people entertained, because my husband would invite people over, and how to always, always obey the golden "Lady" rule: Do not voice your own opinion, when in the presence of men. Because they don't care; to them, you're a maid, somebody to look after them. You're a prize, that should always be kept safe; so you can't leave the house, unless you have to.

You're less then them, because you're a woman. And that's it.

You can't do anything about it, because they won't listen to you.

But, if you were a boy, they would.

If I were a boy, people would listen to me. I could tell them something and they would listen, they'd have to. And I could be who I want; I wouldn't have to worry about being a "lady", and finding a suitable husband. I wouldn't have to worry about any of that.

What else? I could curse, I could talk without using proper "grammar", like I do around Race and Twitch. I could do what ever I wanted. I wouldn't have to wear so many skirts, all the time. I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally showing my shins. I wouldn't have to listen to anybody.

And if I were a boy, I could become a bat boy. A bat boy for the Superbas!

But when it really matters, I'm a girl. Because that's how I was born, and that's how I have to behave.

So, when Dad and Race finished talking, I came back to clean up.

I washed the dishes, and put them away, as Dad showed Race the door. I only had the chance to give Race a quick wave before he left.

"Amelia?"

I looked up, "Yes?"

"I want you to be the new bat boy for the Superbas."

I was shocked. Was this really coming out of my father's mouth? Did he really just say that he wanted me to accept Race's offer?

"Really?" I asked timidly.

He nodded, "Yes. Amelia, over the past few years, I've noticed that you're retreating further and further away. You aren't who you used to be, Honey. You've been taking your studies too seriously, and you've been moving away from us. And moving away from who you are."

I sat there, just trying to understand what was going on. My Dad was saying I wasn't myself anymore - and I wasn't - I just never thought that he noticed.

"We haven't been to a game together in months. And I know that you love baseball. Amelia, as much as it pains me to say this, I really think that it will be good for you to join the team", I hadn't heard Dad talk this way to me in a while, and I missed it. I missed going to games with him, and I missed the arguments we used to have over which players were better. But most of all, I missed my Dad.

I ran into his arms and thanked him. I told him that he had no idea how much that meant to me.

He replied, saying that I didn't know how much that hug meant to him.

When we finally puled out of the hug, I asked Dad how we were going to tell Ma.

"We'll think of something tomorrow", he said with the glint in his eye that I hadn't seen for a while.

* * *

Not really any references needed this time... so, comment?

Think about it?

Maybe?


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this took a while... and it's a really short chapter, but life's been really stressful, lately... (and I know that's no excuse, but I got nothing else.)

I'd like to thank everyone who has been reviewing!! Eavis, RedKaddict, LucyOfNarnia, Eruanna Undomiel, and Abetterina!! You guys are great!

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!! (except Shortstop/Amelia and Twitch...)

* * *

The next day started out the same as any other. Dad didn't mention anything from last night, so neither did I.

Ma and I went to Manhattan, but Ma had to go to the chemist to get some medicine for little Celso. But she sent me to do my normal chores. I met up with Race and Twitch in Little Italy outside the Bakery.

"Shortstop", Race started out, as we walked out of the Bakery, "How you doing today?"

"Good", I said, "How 'bout you? Any good stories?"

"Naw, same-old stuff", he said. I rolled my eyes.  
_Same old Race._

"How was your Dad after I left last night?" Race suddenly asked.

I was startled by his sudden interest, "He was good", I said, "How was he with you?"

"Good", he said, "You know, your Dad's good at poker, and he's really nice. I think he just puts on the 'mean father' thing as a show."

I smiled, "Yeah, that's my Dad. What did you two talk about?"

"He was actually real concerned for you. He wanted to make sure that you were okay. He cares about you, you know. Asked how long I knew you for, how you were when you're away from when you're at home. And he asked 'lot 'bout what I knew 'bout baseball. And I'm proud to say that I could answah most of 'em. I told him that everything I knew 'bout it came from what you told me and Twitch. He said that you loved baseball. And I asked him how long it took him to figure that one out."

I chuckled.

"But the biggest thing that got me, was that he said that you've changed. He said that you used to be so outgoing. Amelia, what happened?"

I looked up at Race, "You called me Amelia."

"Cause it's your name." He seemed confused.

"Well, yeah. But you've never called me Amelia before, and you've known that's my name forever."

Race didn't get it, "Why are you so upset with me calling you Amelia?"

"Because, to you, I'm Shortstop. To all you guys, I'm Shortstop. I'm not Amelia", I said.

"How does that even make sense?"

"It's the same with how I act. At home, I'm Amelia. The perfect daughter of my parents. The daughter who does only what she's told. The daughter who is 'training' to become the perfect wife for somebody that my parents pick for me. But with you guys, I'm Shortstop. And Shortstop doesn't care about being perfect. She doesn't care about manners, or proper grammar, or whether she has perfect posture, or can balance a rolled up piece of paper on my head. She cares about baseball. And her friends. And that's it."

"So, which one are you?"

"Right now, I want to be Shortstop", I said.

"I don't want to know about right now", Race said, "I mean who are you. Amelia, or Shortstop?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

**. . .**

We met up with Twitch - who had been selling with Jake, instead of Race - later that afternoon.

"Hey, Shortstop", Twitch greeted me, "You gonna tell us what happened at the end of the game, today?"

"Of course", I said, ruffing his hair. I then turned to Jake, "Haven't seen this old face in a while."

He smiled, "Yeah, it's been a while, Shortstop."

"You wanna stay to hear the and of the game?" I asked him.

He thought about it for a few seconds before saying, "You know what, sure. I haven't heard one of your stories in a long time. And I could use a break."

"Good", I said, pulling out my score pad, "Because in the last inning, the Superbas pitcher - Kennedy - grew too tired to finish the game well. His pitches were getting wilder and wilder as the inning wore on. And he ended up walking three men."

Twitch eyes grew wide, "Bases loaded."

I nodded, "The bases were loaded. And the Superbas manager went to the mound to ask Kennedy if he could still pitch. He said, No."

"Well? Who did they end up putting in for Kennedy?" Twitch asked.

"Joe Yeager."

"Joe Yeager?"

I nodded, "They didn't have anyone else. And Yeager's not that bad of a pitcher."

"But he's not as good as Kennedy", Twitch said, "From what I've heard."

"True, not as good", I said, "But, remember, you can't judge somebody's skill if you've never seen them play."

"I guess not", he said, reluctantly, "But did he have a chance?"

"Well, you'll just have to pay attention to find out, won't you?"

He was all excited again, so I continued with the game until it ended. And the Superbas won, 1-0.

I had just finished telling the game, when Twitch said:

"Hey, Shortstop?"

"Yeah, Twitch?"

"I know that you're called Shortstop 'cause you _like_ baseball, but is it true that you can play?"

I looked at him, shocked, "Of course I can play!"

"But you're a girl, ain't ya?" Twitch said, "Girls can't play baseball."

I was shocked he even said that, "Twitch. Girls can play anything just as well as boys."

He didn't seem convinced.

"What's all this 'bout?" Race said, breaking from his conversation with Jake.

"Twitch here doesn't think that I can play ball", I told him, "Maybe its that he hasn't seen a newsie ball game yet."

"Well, we'll just have to set that up, here", Race was getting excited.

"When should we have it?" I asked him.

Jake answered that one, "Two hours."

"That soon?"

"Why?" Race was taunting me, "Ya scared, Amelia?"

I narrowed my eye, and broke into a wicked smirk, "Naw, just wanted to make sure the guys could be here in time. Make sure they don't chicken out."

"Don't worry. They'll be there", he said.

* * *

**References:**

"Brickyard" Kennedy: Pitcher for the Superbas (stats: AS A PITCHER: Earned Run Average: 2.79)

Joe Yeager: Pitcher of the Superbas (stats: AS A PITCHER: Earned Run Average: 4.72)

Kennedy was considered to be an outstanding pitcher, but he was on his 8th season with the Superbas. And Yeager was fresh out of his rookie year, but 1899 was one of his best seasons - both for pitching and batting.

Sorry again for it being so short, but more will be on the way!!

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	5. Chapter 5

Two chapters in one day!? You guys are getting spoiled! Either that or I couldn't stop writing... I think that it's the second one...

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES!! (I always hate admitting that...)

Okay, one note: This is the game, so if you need a refresher on baseball terminology, I put a few things at the bottom of the page, under "References".

Hope they help!

* * *

**Two hours later**

"Hey, Shortstop! Haven't seen you in a while", said Jack Kelly as he greeted me.

"Yeah, Kelly", I replied, "It's been a while. But are you still ready to loose?"

"Never."

I grinned, "Then this should be an interesting game."

"You can bet on that", Jack said, before walking over to some of the other newsies on his team.

I walked over to a few others, waiting to get on the field.

"Hey, Snitch!" I called.

"Hey, Shortstop! How's it going?"

"Pretty well. You?"

"Selling papes, same as usual", he said, "But real excited you gettin' a game going. Haven't had one in a while."

"Naw", I said, "But just because there hasn't been one in a while doesn't mean that I want you tripping up an me. You still a good catcher? 'Cause you know these guys play dirty and I don't any of 'em steeling bases."

"I can catch anything", he said, with the same glint in his eye that I'd missed.

"Good", I said, patting him on the back as I walked over to Blink and Mush.

"Shorty!" they both yelled at the same time.

"Hey guys!" I said, "Know who you're playing for?"

They looked at each other, and said to me, "You."

I raised an eyebrow. They never played for me.

Mush obviously couldn't keep in his laughter any longer, "We got you!"

"No you didn't! I'm just out of practice is all!"

"Ya hear that, Mush? Shortstop's out of practice. This should be an easy game", said Blink.

I rolled my eyes. God, I missed these games. They brought everyone together for a little friendly competition, "In your dreams, Blink."

"Oh. That sounds like a threat, Mush", Blink said, "Is-is she threatening us?"

"I think so", said Mush, leaning on the brick wall behind him, "But we should warn her..."

Blink sighed, "I suppose so..." He turned to me, "You're goin' down."

"After you", I said.

"Ladies first", Blink retorted.

I looked around, "But Jack isn't even here. I feel bad dragging him into this."

Mush burst into laughter at that one. He could never keep in his laughter.

"Mush", Blink said, "You're ruining me here. How can I give a good threat with you always laughing?"

"Because I'm a free spirit, and I cannot be silenced", Mush said.

Both Blink and I just looked at him.

"Free spirit?" I asked.

"Where did you hear that?" Blink continued, "Have you been hanging around Lower East Side, again?"

Silence. Blink and I looked at each other, and burst into laughter.

"Lower East Side?" I asked through my laughter, "The same Lower East Side with the 'hoity-toities' you make fun of?"

"The same Lower East Side with the steel ships? And the Brooklyn ferries?" Blink said, and then looked at me, "Boy, maybe we need to go and see who he actually goes to see at those piers."

Just before Mush could make the situation worse for himself, Jack yelled out to everyone to come in.

It was time to start the game.

**. . .**

"Okay", Jack yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, "Rules are the same: The game'll run 'till the sun sets. Bases can be stolen only when the ball is in play - and that means NO running before the ball is pitched! Anything hit onto the roofs, will have to be fished back at the end of the game, by the looser who hit it. And all in favor of soakin' bein' allowed?"

Fifteen of the newsies shot their hands up.

"I don't know why I even ask that one", Jack said to himself, before yelling to the group, "Soakin's allowed!"

Cheers burst out from a few.

Jack wistled to get everyone's attention, "But before we start, we gotta figure out who's at bat!"

That shut everyone up.

"Shortstop!" Jack called, "Blink! Get up here!"

We both got to the middle of the mob. And Blink go out a penny, and handed it to Jack.

"Shortstop", Jack asked, "Heads or Tails for batting?"

"Tails", I said, looking Blink in the eye.

Jack flipped the coin, watched it hit the ground, and immediately put his foot on top of it. He slowly removed his boot from the penny, and exclaimed, "Heads!"

I sighed, and Blink smirked in my face.

_Lousy._

The crowd in the middle of the field soon dissipated, and each newsie went to his position.

I went to my spot between second and third base. Snitch got behind home plate as catcher, and started warming up Itey - who was the pitcher. Skittery went to first, Jake to second, and Ten-Pin to third. We had nobody in the outfield, because the lot we were playing in wasn't big enough.

First at bat was Boots. He hit the ball on the third pitch and it flew down the third-base line. Ten-Pin caught it and threw it to first. Too late, Boots was safe.

Next came Dutchy, who hit the ball on after fourth foul ball. It flew to second, Jake caught it, and threw it at Dutchy. Hit. Dutchy was out, and he'd have a nice bruise tomorrow. One out.

Up to bat was Blink, who couldn't hit a melon with a racket. Strike out. Two outs.

Third at bat was Mush. He hit the ball out past third base. Ten-Pin ran to catch the fly ball - and missed. But when he racovered it, he threw the ball to me. I caught it just as Boots was running to third. Three Outs.

Switch sides.

I was fourth at bat. Ten-Pin, Snitch, and Itey were already on base. Bases were loaded, as I picked up the bat and walked onto the field.

Strike one.

Ball one.

Ball two.

Foul ball - Strike two.

Ball three - full count.

This was my last chance to hit. I calmed my nerves, circling my shoulders back, and taking a deep breath. I then raised the bat above my head. I was ready.

The ball came at, and I knew it'd be the one. I waited for a half-a-second and swung. As hard as I ever swung at a baseball. And it flew. Over the heads of the infielders, and into the back corner of the field.

And I ran.

At first, I saw the boys running to catch the ball, still flying through the air.

At second, I saw the ball hit the ground, and Blink pick it up.

At third, I saw Jack get a hold of the ball and start to throw it infield.

But I kept running. I was gonna beat Jack's throw. I saw Mush standing on home plate, ready to catch the ball coming at him.

I knew it'd be close, so I slid. I was two feet away from home plate, and I slid. With my right foot out, and my left underneath me, I slid.

And Mush missed.

I'd done it! I'd hit a grand slam! I could've died that second as a happy girl. I didn't care about my dress now being all dirty, or about my leg now bleeding from the slide I took. I'd just hit a grand slam!

"Amelia!" A voice cried out.

And the world went silent. I turned around, stricken with fear.

My Ma, on the other hand, I did care about.

* * *

**References:**

Soaking: normally used in Newsies stories as slang to beat someone up. But in the wonderful world of baseball, it's a way to get a runner out by hitting them with the ball. It was a rule that was shut out of the major leagues in the 1870's (?) because of too many injuries, but I can see the newsies using it...

Foul Ball: When you hit the ball, but it doesn't make it onto the playable field. Counts as a strike (unless you already have two strikes, in which case, it doesn't count...)

Grand Slam: When a team gets four players "home" in a single hit.

I think that's all of them...

Comments make me smile! :)

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	6. Chapter 6

So, here's chapter 6!!!

Disclaimer: I own no Newsies... though, they don't really show up in this chapter too much...

Warning: There may be a few misspellings... So, I apologise for them now...

* * *

"Ma?" I said fearfully, "What are you doing here? I thought you were looking after Celso."

"What am I -?" she was practically speachless, "I left him with Emilio. What are _you _doing, with these -?" she gestured to the boys on the field, who were watching the whole scene.

"Ah -" I didn't really have acceptable answer for her.

"Well, I hope that your tongue won't be tied when you explain this behavior to your father", she said, taking my arm and practically dragging me home.

I gave a small sad smile to the guys as I turned the corner; I saw Race, who was at the front of the mob, give me a small wave of good-luck. I was going to need it.

. . .

Ma and I walked back to Brooklyn in silence. It was a terrifying silence - when the whole world seems to know that you're in trouble. When all you can hear is your own heartbeat and your feet slapping against the hard ground.

And I thought that it would be better when we got home. And it was - but barely.

"What were you thinking, Amelia?!" Ma cried the second that we were safely inside.

"What is this all about?" asked Dad as he came to the front hall.

Ma turned to Dad, "I found her with a bunch of street urchins in Manhattan! They were playing ball, Robert!"

Dad slowly turned to face me, "Why -?"

"That's just what I was about to ask her", Ma said, engulfed in rage.

"Gio, darling", Dad said, trying to calm Ma down by using her given name, "Your temper..."

She gave a frustrated sigh, looking away from me, "Fine. Ask her what you want."

Dad then turned back to me, "Amelia, how - exactly - did you hurt your leg so badly?"

I looked down at my leg. This was the first time that I had really looked at it. And it was pretty bad. The left side of my dress was covered in dirt, and my leg was still bleeding. The whole side of it had practially been skinned, and there were pieces of rock and sand intertwined with the blood.

I then looked back up at my father and said, "I slid into home after hitting a grand."

Dad looked down at the floor. He then looked back up and walked toward me. Finally, he face cracked a very small smile, "Very first Grand Slam, 'ey?"

I nodded.

"Well, then", he continued with a straight face, "Congratulations."

"What are you doing, Robert?!" Ma said, horofied, "You're letting her get away with this type of behaivor?!"

"No", he said simply.

"Well, good", Ma said, "Because, thi -"

"Will you let me finish, Gio?" Dad was getting frustrated now, "Thank you."

"Now", Dad started off, "I agree that such behavior isn't lady-like. And that if anyone had seem you playing, your chances of finding a suitable husband would be severily damaged. But, I also must say that your behavior, Amelia, brings out somebody that I once knew. Actually, two people that I knew."

"Robert", Ma sounded like she was pleading at this point.

"Gio?" Dad, however, was unfazed by her begging.

She sighed, "Amelia, will you come here for a moment?"

I slowly moved across the room toward Ma.

"Why do you think that I want you to be a lady?"

I was caught off guard, "So I can become a good wife?"

"More than that", she said.

"So I can climb the social ladder of society?"

"Amelia", Ma said looking right at me, "I mean _really,_ why do you think that I've been teaching you all of these things."

I dug up all the courage I could, and said to her, "So that I can be like you. So that I can be Mommy's perfect little daughter. So that I can be exactly what she wants with me."

She looked down, sadly, "Darling", she said, "It's not that I want you to be like me; it's that I don't want you to be like me."

I looked at her confused.

"See, Amelia. I wasn't always like this", she said, gesturing to herself, "I used to be different. I used to be like you; I used to be a tomboy."

"You?" I had to be dreaming, "A tomboy?"

"I know that it seems hard to believe, but yes. I was a tomboy", Ma said, "I was born in Italy. On a vinyard. I was one of the biggest tomboys. I refused to do anything lady-like. I wouldn't wear formal dresses, because I thought that they were too hot. And I wouldn't learn the ways of society. Nobody could get me to do anything."

"How did you change into this, then?" I asked.

"Well, you know my given name, right?" she asked.

"Yes, Giovanna."

"Well, when I came to America, I was fourteen years old", she looked sad as she spoke, "And my name was taken."

I looked down. I already knew this, but it was still very sad. I was very proud of my name. I could never imagine somebody taking it away.

"It was changed to Virginia - which is a beautiful name. But it's not _my _name. That's when I started to change. I had a new name, a new country, and a new life. My Mother was always angry with me for giving up my Fire, as she called it. But I realized that it was impossible to get through life as someone that radically different. I realized that to survive, I couldn't be a tomboy", Ma said, "And I didn't want you to have to make that awful change. I didn't want you to go through what I had to. And I know that was selfish of me, but it's what I thought was best for you. I'm so sorry, Amelia."

"But, Ma", I said, "You don't always have to give up your fire to survive."

She sniffled, "You sound just like your grandmother. I guess it's a good thing that we named you after her."

I smiled at her, "I supose it is."

"Thank goodness!!" Dad said, coming back into the conversation, "You two are finally acting like mother and daughter."

We smiled at Dad.

"Now, we can get on with something that's been an issue ever since you two walked in here."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Your leg", Dad said, "It needs to be cleaned up."

I looked down at my leg. I had completely forgotten about it.

* * *

No references needed for this one...

But comments are WONDERFUL!!! (doesn't matter if you've got an account or not!!)

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7!

I enjoy comments!

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies! Disney does...

* * *

Now, I'd like to say that all of my problems were gone, and that my chat with Ma had changed everything.

But, I can't kid myself like that.

Sure, for the next few days, Ma and I got along better, but in truth, our lives just got more complicated. Ma still wanted me to be a lady. And I still didn't. We're both just so stubborn, that neither of us is going to give up. And I hadn't even told her about the job offer from Race yet.

So, I still had to sneak around Ma to hang around the guys - only difference now was that she knew about it. And every time I saw Ma, she never asked me about them. She just pretended like they didn't matter - like they didn't exist.

. . .

"Hey, Race", I called out, one day as I came out of the bakery.

He gave me a slight up-nod, and stamped out his cigarette, "So, how's thing at home?" he asked snidely.

"Aw, put a sock in it", I shot back.

"Aw... Somebody's in a bad mood", Race said.

"Aw... Somebody's in a sarcastic mood", I was in a bad mood.

"Why you so down in the dumps, Shorty?"

"Ma", I said.

He sighed. And then decided to join in the glum-fest, and said, "'Least you got a Ma."

"Yeah", I was ready to throw it all right back in his face, "Ain't I lucky."

"Well, ya are", Race said - surprisingly not sarcastically.

I didn't say anything, because, I knew he was right. As much as I hate Ma sometimes, I am lucky to still have one. Can't say the same for some of my other friends.

"Race?"

"Hm?"

"What was your Ma like?"

There was a really long pause; I wasn't even sure if he was going to answer.

"She was beautiful", Race said, "She had the biggest brown eyes. And her smile could light up the world. But she's gone - no use thinking about the past. There's only memories - and I don't want those memories."

I didn't know what to say to that. So we sat in silence. And not the kind of awkward silence where you're waiting for someone to talk. But a peaceful kind of silence. And it was nice.

"Race?" I said, finally breaking the silence.

"Hm?"

"Do you think that I should take that job as a batboy?"

"Not up to me", he simply said.

"But I want your opinion", I told him.

"And I think that you should decide."

"I'm not asking you to decide, Race", I told him, "I'm just asking for your opinion."

"And my opinion, is that you figure it out yourself", Race said, starting to get up.

"All my life I'm told what to do", I said, "And I've wanted to make my own decisions. But now I'm faced with one, and I can't choose. Does that make me a hypocrite?"

"Naw", he said, "Make's ya smart."

I slumped back. Race wasn't being helpful today.

. . .

"Dad?"

"Amelia", he seemed shocked, "What are you doing here?"

"I do know where you work Dad", I said.

"Let me rephrase that... Why are you here?"

"'Cause I need to ask you something", I told him.

"Well what is it?"

"Do you still think that I should take the batboy job?"

"Of course", he said, "You're yourself out on that field."

"Okay", I said, "Do you think that Ma would be angry if I took the job?"

He sighed, "Yes."

"Then how do I tell her?"

He shrugged, looking over my shoulder - looking for anyone coming by.

"Do you think I _should_ tell her?"

He was surprised by that question, "Well, of course. If you're taking the job."

"Yeah", I said, desperately, "But _how_?"

"That's not up to me to decide", he said.

"Do you think that it's worth taking the job, if I have to disappoint Ma in the process?"

"Do you think that it is?" was all the insight that he gave me.

I groaned in frustration, "Why can't you just tell me what to do?"

"Because", he said, "You need to know how to make decisions. You can't have people telling you what to do your whole life."

"Not if I'm going to become 'Lady'" I said, hopelessly.

"There are thousands of different ways to be a lady", Dad said, "And even more roads of getting there."

I just looked at him; was he saying that I could do what I want or was he saying that I didn't know where I was going? "What are you saying exactly?"

"Yes, Honey", Dad said. But he wasn't really listening anymore. A boss was starting to come our way, and he got back to work. And that was my cue to leave as well.

. . .

I started to walk home. And I still didn't have a decision. I wanted to take the job. And I mean really really wanted the job. But I couldn't face disappointing my mother like that. She raised me, didn't she? And she had always been the deciding authority in my life. I had always wanted to please her - not too much else. I always wanted her seal of approval. That's why I gave up baseball in the first place. But the question now, was do I go back to it?

And that's when the idea struck me.

Right there on South Street.

I knew exactly how I could maintain both of my lives. I could be both Amelia and Shortstop.

It was a good plan. Not exactly a truthful plan. But it was better than anything else I could think of.

. . .

"Ma?" I called as I walked in the door to our apartment.

"Kitchen", she called back.

I walked into the kitchen, and slowly said to Ma, "I got offered a job, today."

She stopped her work. "A job? Where?"

"At the doily factory down in SoHo", I told her, "It's where Sarah Jacobs works."

"Sarah?" Ma thought about it, "She's a nice girl. But why the interest in work?"

"Because", I said, "Dad's always tired when he comes home, and I know that we're not doing too well, right now. And I want to help."

"That's very nice, sweatie", Ma said, "But we don't need help out there. We need help here. The best way to help your father, is to be the best to him when he's home. He needs us here, not out there."

"Ma", I looked her in the face, "I think that I should get a job. To see what's really out there. I need to know what the world's going to throw at me, when I get out there."

Ma stopped, and looked around, thinking. She finally sighed and said, "Fine. Fine, you can take the job. But I still expect the same amount of work from you as before."

I smiled. _Superbas, here I come!_

* * *

No need for references this time...

But feedback is always good!

for now,

newsie dork form D.U.M.B.O.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry this took me FOREVER! But finals are hell... So to celebrate, I worte another chapter! Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies... And if you thought I did, well, you're sorely mistaken.

* * *

I woke up real early the next day, and Ma walked me to "work" - well, she rode the trolley with me to "work", anyway. Neither of us talked the whole way there, except to wish each other well before I went into the factory.

And as I walked in, Ma watched me. I felt a sudden sting of something - guilt, maybe. It was weird, a feeling I'd never felt before. Ma was worrying about me - whether she would admit it or not - and I was lying to her. And I felt think I felt guilty about that. But it didn't matter. The feeling left as easily as it came.

"Name?" said a harsh-looking elderly lady.

"Oh", I said, "No, I don't work here. I am simply here wondering if this was where Victoria, ah- Jones worked. I was to meet her here, you see."

"And why is it that you have to meet her here, sweetheart?" she said in a fake sweet voice.

"Ah-" I said, "Because I need to, um, nanny her sister - Sally, Sally James."

She looked at me crossly, "Out."

I didn't need to be told twice. That was a terrible fib - I always tell terrible fibs. I can think of something to say, right on the spot. But I can never remember what I said. I sighed, looking to see if Ma was still outside, before leaving the security of the factory building. Thankfully, I saw her back as she weaved through the crowded streets. I sighed with relief, and walked back out onto the street of Manhattan. I wasn't supposed to be out of "work", until five thirty that evening. That gave me just under ten hours to find Race, get the job, and get back to the factory when Ma said she would pick me up.

I looked through the pockets in my ratty work dress. Ten cents. That was enough for a trolley back to into Brooklyn, and then back to the factory. And with maybe three cents left over.

I sighed again, fearful of what I was about to do. And then, I felt it again - that wierd feeling inside of me. It made me want to go back into the factory and say that I did work there. I'd never lied to Ma this harshly. _But she'll never find out! _I thought to myself. _She never goes to the games. She hates baseball! Remember when she caught you with the boys. She thinks baseball is evil. She's the reason you had to stop in the first place! But she can't stop you from loving it. And she can't stop you now._

So I took a deep breath, and waited for the feeling to leave again - which it eventually did. Then, hopping onto the Bowery line trolley and switching at Pearl Street, I headed over the Brooklyn Bridge for the second time that day.  
. . .

Step one: Find Race.

Not too difficult. I just had to make it to Sheepshead.

I mentally drew out the streets of Brooklyn, in my head and the trolley lines that ran through the city. The quickest way to get to the racetracks was to get onto the Flatbush line, switch at Avenue U and get off at E 27th Street. But that meant going through the heart of Flatbush - which no one did, unless you positively knew what you were doing. Flatbush was the absolute slum of Brooklyn - always known to me as, "Pigtown".

This was where the poorest of the poor lived. It was full of rumored people - people that were talked about, but no one had the guts to see if they actually existed. I'd heard of child-gangs, pickpocket black-markets, and the occasional mass murderer in Pigtown.

But I needed to find Race as soon as I could. So, I mustered up all my strength and switched onto the Flatbush line. The car was relatively empty, except for one man in business suit, with a crooked grin - probably a con, tricking the residents of Pigtown out of any money they had - reading the morning edition of the _Eagle_, and a drunk, asleep against the rail of where a window might have been. I cautiously sat down in one of the seats close to the exit, but not close enough to be dragged out.

Now, I knew that Pigtown wasn't _that_ bad, but I was very fearful at the time. And I didn't want to take any chances.

Once out of the heart of Pigtown, I switched trolley lines onto the Avenue U. This trolley was much more crowed, and I had to stand on the edge of the trolley, holding onto a single pole to keep me from falling onto the rails. But soon enough the trolley stopped near enough to the tracks for me to walk the rest of the way.

. . .

Pop Quiz: Where would Racetrack be when he was at a racetrack?

Hawlkin' the Headlines? Maybe. The time was still within Morning Edition, but knowing Race, he would've already sold all his papers on the trip to the tracks. But at least it was a place to start, right?

Wrong.

Racetrack wasn't selling papers. I found him in the standing near the tracks, yelling along with the crowd of drunks behind him - all of whom were holding onto their ticket stubs for dear life, praying that their horse won it all.

So, I sighed, and watched Race as his normal horse won "place", which means he came in second, in fancy horse racing terms. But even if he didn't Win, Race still seemed very happy - because he ran (no - sprinted) to the Bookie box, to claim his winnings. Two whole dollars.

"Racetrack!" I yelled about the crowd. But he couldn't hear me, through all the noise. So, I tried again, "Race! Tony! Anthony!"

I let out a frustrated sigh, before screaming at the top of my lungs, "HEY HIGGINS!"

At that, he turned around to see me - as did a few others. I smiled a innocently embarrassed smile to the people who were still staring at me - gaping at why young girl would yell that loudly. And the second Race's arm was within reach, I grabbed him, and pulled him away from the tracks, and over toward the entrance.

"What was'at for?" Race scowled at me, "Anudda race is startin'!"

I smiled at him, "I'll take the job!"

"Okay, well next time, could'ya 'least not yank my arm out?"

I playfully rolled my eyes at him, "You know I'm just pulling your leg. -Oh wait, or was it your arm?"

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, Shorty", Race said, "Haven't heard that one ba'fore."

"Well, I thought that it was clever", I said.

His eyes veered away from the race, and looked at me, "You really gonna take the job?" he asked, questioning my loyalty.

I nodded, "Absolutely."

He sighed, not wanting to leave the tracks, "I just had one 'a my best breaks yet."

"So, quit while you're ahead", I said, taking his arm and pulling him toward the exit.

"But I can win a couple more", he said, pleading, "I know I can. What if it's my lucky day, today?"

"We gotta go, Race", I said, practically dragging him out of Sheepshead, "My Ma can't find out about this, so I gotta get back before the factory gets out."

"Just one more race", he begged, "Come on, Shorty! Just five minutes!"

"No, Higgins", I told him, "We're leaving."

"Fine", he pleaded, "Two more minutes, Shorty. Just two more!"

"No", I said, firmly, "We're going to get me a job!"

He groaned in frustration, stopped pulling against me, and said, in defeat, "Fine. Let's go. Andy'll meet us over at New Washin'tin."

* * *

References: There really is a place in Brooklyn called "Pigtown"... though, it's nowhere nearly as bad as it now as it was in the 1890's... (I actually used to have a friend that lived in Flatbush.) And if you're intrested in learning more... I'm sure you can look it up, because *funfact*: in 1913, Charles Ebbets built a brand-spankin-new ballpark in Flatbush. (weird how my story would do that, no?)

I love comments!

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


	9. Chapter 9

Here's chapter 9! (again, I own none of the charchters that you saw in Disney's movie, _Newsies. _I do, however, own any and all characters that you don't remember from the movie!)

Enjoy!

* * *

Step Two: Get the job.

As Race and I rounded the corner to New Washington Park, Race started looking around - as if he was looking for someone, but trying not to be noticed by others. Suddenly, his eye-shifting stopped, and his gaze was locked almost dead ahead. I tried to figure out what he was looking at, but I didn't see anything.

We kept walking toward the front entrance of the park. Man, I loved this place, though I hadn't been there in what seemed like ages. I was always mesmerised by its scale.

When we got to the front of the park, Racetrack guided us to the left corner wall. He then knocked on that wall with his ink-stained right hand, "C'n'we come in?"

I heard a slight sigh mixed with a chuckle, before, "Ya know, Racetrack, I don't like the way to talk to me. Maybe some manner lessons are in order?"

Race rolled his eyes, "Andy, come on. I got ya new batboy here."

The boy came out from behind the side of the building. He was maybe a year older than Race and I, so about fifteen. He had choppy red hair that reminded me of over-ripe carrots that had gone just a little bit mushy. His face was covered in freckles and he had a lopsided toothy grin, with a little too much space between his two front teeth.

"You must be Andrew, then?" I said, putting my hand out, trying to start off the conversation.

"Well, I guess", he replied, taking my hand, and quickly shaking it, "But ma'name's not Andrew, miss. It's Eric."

I looked at him confused, "But Race just called you Andy. Wouldn't that make _you_ Andy?"

"Well, yes", he said, "I'm Andy. But not Andrew. M'full name's Eric Robert Anderson. Racetrack calls me 'Andy' 'cause of m'last name, but I pretty much answer to anything."

"Okay, well", I said, "What do must people call you?"

"Eariay...", he said softly, almost as if he was shy about it.

I looked at him questionably, "Eray? That's an odd name."

"No", he said, sighing, "They call me E-are-ay. It's my initals. E-R-A.

"You mean like -"

He nodded, "Earned Runs Average. Yeah, I get a lot of nicknames from that, too. Pretty much the reason I answer to anything, nowadays. But I didn't learn your name, miss."

"Oh", I said, "It's Amelia. But you can call me Shortstop."

"Shortstop, 'eh?" he said, "How'd you get a name like that?"

Race took over from there, "Andy, meet your new batboy!"

"Where?"

I looked at him confused, before I waved, "Me."

Andy looked from Race to me and back again in shock, before starting to chuckle, "That's a good one, Race! A little girl as a botboy. I must say, I thought you were serious for a second or two. Ya'really got me."

"We weren't jokin', Anderson", Race said, very seriously.

"You actually e'spect me to believe that this girl" - he pointed to me - "is the great batboy you promised me? I sorry, but I was kinda hoping that you'd have enough sense to understand that bat_boy_ meant I was looking for a _boy_!"

"And you don't think that I can take it?" I asked, "Is that it?"

"Yeah", he said, "I don't. I had a little sister once; I know what girls are like. And _they_ should know where they belong."

Anger started to boil inside of me, "Well, let me tell you, _sir_, that I can do anything you can. Only I'll be better at it than you could ever be. You're pathetic."

"Well, Amelia", he said, in a fake sweet voice, "Let me just tell you that you don't even belong here. That fact that you like this sport, that you had the nerve to come out here and _flirt_ with me, before saying you wanted to be part of this team, just shows how pathetic _you_ are. Because, you're a freak for wanting this, and what's more pathetic, is that you actually thought that you could make it. You poor, poor pathetic thing, you."

I felt like I was supposed to cry, but I just felt angry - angrier than I've ever been. I wanted to slice open this "Andy"'s throat, and rip out his vocal cords, so he could never talk again. And then, for good measure, just take a knife, and slice the rest of his good-for-nothing head off.

"Andy", Race said, stepping in before I did anything I would regret, "Your sister died when she was eight. I doubt'ya know anythin' 'bout girls."

"I know that they don't belong at ball-fields", he retorted.

"Says you", Race said, calmly.

"Says me? Says everyone", Andy yelled.

"Alright", Race said, "Says everyone. But don't'ya think that you should'be lookin' for someone who loves the game and can p'form the job of a batboy?"

"Yeah", he said, "That's what I asked you for, and you brought me this-" he pointed at me again.

"Ever think 'bout givin' her a chance?"

I was actually very thankful that he was talking so I didn't have to. He was giving me some time to calm down, which I needed to do. But what I didn't understand, though, was how Race was able to keep from blowing up. I could hear the anger in his voice, but it was a subtle that Andy didn't seem to be picking up on it. He was just letting Andy vent. So, in his own wacky way, Race was calming us both down, before we killed each other.

Andy was staring at Race, trying to figure out if I was good enough for a chance. He didn't look all that angry anymore, but distraught, maybe, "Fine."

"Fine?" I was surprised.

"Yeah", he said, anger starting to trickle back, "You get one - and I mean one - chance to win the guys over. One chance, and that's it. If they don't like you, you're out. And you" - he turned to Racetrack - "can kiss those poker nights behind the field good-bye."

"Okay", both Race and I said at the same time, though I was a little more fearful in my speech.

"Just one thing", Andy said.

"And that would be-" Race inquired.

"If you're gonna try out for a batboy, you gotta be a boy", he said to me.

"Didn't we just go over this?" I asked, "And didn't you say I could try out?"

"Well, yeah", he said, "But ya gotta look like a boy, at least. Just because I'm letting you try out, doesn't mean that I'm letting Amelia try out. I'm only letting Shortstop on the field."

"Alright", I said, trying to figure out how I was going to pull that off.

"Good", he told me, "Meet me back here tomorrow at Eleven. And show up as Shortstop, or don't even bother showing up at all."

* * *

No need for references this time... I think everthing is straighforward...

But all comments will be appreciated! (and if you find anything wrong with my spelling, I'm really sorry... but if you let me know what's spelled wrong, I'll fix it right away!)

for now,

newsie dork from D.U.M.B.O.


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